


Sandwiches and Confessions

by nerdistheword



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Kissing, M/M, SnowBaz, The L Word - Freeform, after the leavers ball, baz gets feelings, simon gets a sandwich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-09 23:51:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17414927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdistheword/pseuds/nerdistheword
Summary: Snow is making himself a sandwich in a formal suit. His hair is coming loose from the neat style he had it in earlier, and his fucking tail is wrapped around one of his legs. Everything about him right now makes me want to kiss him. But that’s not news.I wonder if he knows how much power he holds over me with just his smile, his touch. Does he know I love him? I practically said it while we were dancing. I can still feel the heat from his combative kiss tingling in my lips.(set after the Leaver's Ball in the epilogue)





	Sandwiches and Confessions

**Simon**

Baz doesn’t let go of my hand after we stop dancing. He doesn’t let go even when we sneak away from the Leavers Ball and head to the Weeping Tower. His hand is cool on this warm spring night, and he’s confidently leading me through the darkness like a small child, as if I don’t know the way. We both went to school here for years, I know the way as much as him, he’s such a git.

A git I’m holding hands with. A git I danced with and kissed in front of all the Watford graduates and staff.

I don’t regret not returning to Watford after what happened Christmas break. Even now I don’t dare look in the direction of the White Chapel. I want this to be a good night. Tonight is for Baz. So I just focus on his hand in mine, how he won’t let go even for a second.

I only feel a little guilty taking him away from the Ball. It’s not like Baz was having any fun there anyway. And what kind of party doesn’t have sandwiches?

Baz knows a back way into the kitchen. Once we’re inside he spells the lights on and I make a beeline for the pantry, grabbing a fresh loaf of bread. In the large refrigerator I find ham and lettuce and tomatoes. If Cook Pritchard doesn’t appreciate people rummaging through her kitchen while she’s not around, I’ll blame it on Baz. She likes him more than me. But I can’t be bitter; I’m his boyfriend. Obviously I like him. The git made me like him, with his perfect face and his pretty eyes and flowy hair. He said that he chose me, that he will always choose me. I’m not sure if I can fully believe him yet, but Baz wouldn’t lie about this. I’d always choose him too.

**Baz**

Snow is making himself a sandwich in a formal suit. His hair is coming loose from the neat style he had it in earlier, and his fucking tail is wrapped around one of his legs. Everything about him right now makes me want to kiss him. But that’s not news.

I wonder if he knows how much power he holds over me with just his smile, his touch. Does he know I love him? I practically said it while we were dancing. I can still feel the heat from his combative kiss tingling in my lips.

I’ll always choose him. I hope the words I said got through to him.

He finishes making his sandwich. As soon as the top piece of bread is in place, he’s stuffing it into his mouth. I’m disgusted. Snow eats like an animal, but the delight on his face cancels it out. Sort of. The sandwich is gone in under a minute, and then Snow’s looking through the fridge, still chewing. I find myself entranced by the broadness of his shoulders in his suit jacket, in the curve of his waist. He lets out a small happy noise when he finds a few leftover scones wrapped in wax paper. He’s popping them into the microwave in a second. Then he finds the butter and I know him well enough to just sit down on a stool by the counter. The scones are speedily buttered and then devoured, except for one. He holds it out to me.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, mouth still semi full. I shake my head, and he shrugs and eats the scone in three large bites. I’m so in love with this boy.

**Simon**

“I need to ask Cook Pritchard for her sour cherry scone recipe.” I say, sweeping crumbs off the counter and throwing away bundles of wax paper.

Baz raises an eyebrow. “Couldn’t you just Google it?” I shake my head as I put things back in place inside the fridge and pantry.

“No, I want to make them exactly like they are here.”

He sighs and stands up from his stool, brushing off his perfectly clean slacks. “All right, Snow. I’ll ask her for the recipe.”

“I was gonna ask, you don’t need too.” I say, following him out of the kitchen as he spells the lights off and locks the door back up. Baz smirks and takes my hand again, smug.

“She likes me better.”

I growl, but let him pull me forward. I expect him to head back toward the depressing, sandwich-less party, but he doesn’t. Instead he heads in the direction of Mummer’s House and the football pitch.

“Why’re we going this way?” I ask him, taking quick steps to keep myself beside him with his graceful, long-legged strides.

He doesn’t answer until we’re standing in the middle of the grassy pitch. It’s slightly overgrown, and tickles my ankles under my dress pants. Baz puts his hands on my shoulders and looks at me with that intense look that used to make me angry, ready to fight him, but now makes my knees weak, because I know what it means. He’s going to kiss me, I think, as he meets my eyes. His deep grey stare is relentless and serious.

“Simon,” he says softly, and I hold my breath. “Do you remember how many fights we had here?”

I let my breath out, and frown. Baz and I fought everywhere when we were younger, when neither of us could stand each other for long without throwing punches. The dining hall, the hallways and stairs, and the football pitch. We fought basically everywhere except our room, thanks to the Anathema. I remember any time we played football together, it would end in a fight, even if we were on the same team. Getting kicked by someone wearing cleats really hurt. I remember tackling him to the ground at some point, ripping his jersey, and trying to throttle him before someone pulled us apart, the taste of blood and dirt and grass in my mouth.

“I don’t know. More than a few times, at least. We fought so much, Baz.” I say.

Baz smirks, just a little. “I know. Did you know that every time you scored a goal or tripped over the ball, every time you smiled, I wanted to kiss you right there in the middle of the Saturday morning game?” I shake my head, unsure of where he’s going with this but bewildered nonetheless.

It’s a little hard to breathe, now. Sometimes it still shocks me, that Baz secretly liked me—that he still likes me—since we met. He’s liked me, wanted to kiss me and be with me, since we were _eleven._ He had a fucked up way of showing it, always mocking me and plotting my downfall and trying to feed me to a chimera. But here we are. From enemies to allies to friends to boyfriends. The word sends a thrill through me because it’s Baz. Baz is my boyfriend. My gorgeous, grey-eyed, vampire boyfriend.

“Simon,” Baz says, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Mm?”

“I’m about to snog the living hell out of you, but before I do I want you to know something.”

I’m already leaning into him, desperately wanting that snog. He has no right to look so pretty in his suit. Is it a special vampire power to look flawless in formal suits _and_ jeans? My knees are already weak from the prospect of Baz kissing me here on the football pitch under the stars—ha, kissing a Pitch on the pitch—but then I see the look on his face.

Merlin, Baz looks like he’s standing on the very edge of a high cliff, staring down into deadly pit of vipers. I reach up and place my hands over his cold ones resting on my shoulders.

“Baz? You okay?”

**Baz**

Simon is saying something, but I can’t hear it.

All the blood I drank is rushing through my ears, I feel like I’m going to be sick. I count his moles to calm myself down. The ones under his eye, behind his ear, on his neck.

I take a deep breath. Take the leap of faith.

“I love you, Simon.” I finally force the words out, the words I’ve known and felt since fifth year, probably before that.

I think I could have pulled out my wand and spelled Simon’s feet into the ground and he’d be less shocked than he looks now. His hands fall off of mine on his shoulders and hang slack by his sides, his mouth is wide open.

“You…did you just…Baz, I—you—“ he stammers in true Snow fashion. I don’t give him the chance to pull himself together.

I didn’t tell him for his response. I told him because I want him to know that he is loved. That I love him, and I will never stop loving him. I lean down and kiss him, and for a moment I’m worried when he doesn’t immediately respond, but then he seems to come back to himself and kisses me back, but it’s not brutal like when we danced. He kisses me languidly, passionately, without hesitation. He does that amazing thing with his chin, tilts his head to the side and although I initiated this kiss, I feel caught off guard. Crowley, he’s kissing me like he…like he loves me. This kiss is a response, I think. His strong arms wrap around my waist and pull me close. He gently tugs on my suit jacket to pull me down while also reaching up on his toes to get better access. I run my hands through his hair and he shivers and, Crowley, I never want to stop kissing Simon Snow.

**Simon**

I’ve never been good with words. I can think them in my head, but as soon as I try to push them out of my mouth it’s a train wreck.

Baz has always been better with speaking. He’s eloquent and so fucking smart. He looked like he was having trouble with those three words though. _“I love you, Simon.”_

I think I stopped functioning there for a second, and then I was kissing him, slowly, tenderly. I debate if I should say the words back to him. If I should put myself out there like he just did.

Am I ready for that? Am I in love with Baz? What I feel for him is all-encompassing. It’s powerful and exciting and intense. And I really fucking like kissing him and holding his hand and being his boyfriend. I like it when he calls me Simon and when I make him laugh. I like his eyes and his messy hair and his too-high-up nose.

Crowley, I like everything about Baz. Even his infuriating sneer and his snark and his teasing. I think I do love him, or that what I’m feeling is a good start to it. Baz just took a huge leap. I think I’ll wait a bit until I take mine. Catch him off guard. I’d like to make him freak out a little bit when I tell him, just like I did just now.

So I kiss him, putting all the feelings I haven’t voiced yet into my lips on his. Baz’s hands are in my hair, and I’m nearly ripping his suit coat. _Yeah,_ I think, deepening the kiss and making Baz sigh, _I definitely like this better than fighting._


End file.
